


The Fundraiser

by Colubrina



Series: Rare Pair Harry Potter One Shots [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 06:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colubrina/pseuds/Colubrina
Summary: Blaise is stuck at a fundraiser.  Ginny Weasley raises something other than money.





	The Fundraiser

Blaise hated these things. Welcomed because he was rich and dressed well. Unwelcome because of his House back at school. Neutral wasn’t good enough in a post-war world where everyone had managed to rewrite their history to turn themselves into a noble resistor. Hah. These people had no more fought against Voldemort than they cared about the cause du jour. He had to check his auction brochure to remind himself what charity he was using to buy his way back into respectability tonight. 

Youth sports. Something he cared nothing about. 

He’d buy something from the auction table and donate it back to the charity. The weekend at the ski chalet in Switzerland, maybe. He hated skiing, and other people’s houses were never clean enough. He took another glass of whiskey from the bartender, dropped a tip in the jar, and helped himself to a hefty swig. At least it was open bar. 

“Having a good time?”

The diminutive ginger had a glass of white wine in her hand - the preferred drink of people who knew nothing about alcohol - and an identical brochure in her hand. “Weasley,” he said with a nod of his head. Blood traitor, not that that mattered anymore. Time had been kind to her. The girl who’d been pretty at 16 was breathtaking at - he did the math in his head - 29. God, he was old. They were all so old. “Not really,” he added when it became clear she actually expected him to answer her question. How quaint.

“Me either,” she said. She turned her back on the crowd and leaned on the bar. Her dress gapped a bit at the back and he could see the tag. “Ron had an extra ticket from work, and he said he’d meet me here, but then he bailed.”

“You were coming with your brother?” he asked. He knew his social life was empty, but that was beyond sad, and hadn’t she been married to Potter? Or engaged? Blaise could have sworn he’d seen some society column on them, or a photo of them kissing at a Quidditch match, or something.

He really didn’t get out much.

“Single girls take the dates they can get,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t asked. By the tilt of her chin, she was waiting for questions about Potter, about why she was so old and still on the shelf. God, Britain was so provincial. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered staying here. Instead of being so predictable he asked her about Hogwarts boyfriend, Blaise opened up the brochure again and checked out the minimum bids. For 5,000 galleons he could simply buy that weekend in the Alps. Not that he’d go skiing of course. Only an idiot tried to rush down frozen water on waxed wood.

“What are you doing next weekend,” he asked.

“Why?”

He glanced at the wine in her hand. She probably hadn’t even thought to ask for anything decent and had gotten stuck with the house white. He’d bet it was a Chablis. “Want to go to Switzerland?” he asked.

She leaned over his shoulder and looked at the picture of the chateau. It was big, and pretty, and maybe he could hire an elf service to pop on ahead of them and scour the place. “I don’t ski,” she said.

He caught her eye and smiled. “Good.”

Her lips parted and curled up in a grin so devilish - so enticing - he wondered what had possessed him to be such a snob at school he hadn’t tried to woo her then. “Then I’d love to,” she said. Her eyes glinted, she moved in closer to him, and the hand that wasn’t holding her glass slid down to rest against his thigh. One finger moved up and down along the fabric, and her eyes never left his.

His pants became more restrictive.

“To support youth Quidditch,” he said.

The charity sent him a lovely thank you letter for his generous purchase at their auction. Ginny, whose taste refused to be cultivated, suggested they frame it and hang it in their bedroom. Blaise would have objected, but he really did have very fond memories of that event. Very fond.


End file.
